


The Labyrinth Song

by Eudaimonias_Revenge



Series: Ariadne and Theseus [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Aurors, Dream Sex, F/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Office Sex, Romance, Rough Sex, Smut, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eudaimonias_Revenge/pseuds/Eudaimonias_Revenge
Summary: To get to the bottom of a slew of grizzly sacrificial murder cases, Hermione must work closely with Draco. Being partners with him is more difficult for her than catching murderers, and between their fighting and chasing a serial killer across Europe, they'll enter a maze that only they can find their way out of."Oh Ariadne, I am coming, I just need to work this maze inside my heartI was blind, I thought you'd bind me, but you offered me a chartOh Ariadne, I just need to work this maze inside my heartIf I'd known that you could guide me, I'd have listened from the start."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Ariadne and Theseus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880461
Comments: 13
Kudos: 150





	The Labyrinth Song

**Author's Note:**

> This story went somewhere I did not expect it to! What started as an excuse to write smut became this. Enjoy.
> 
> A HUGE special THANK YOU! to Shamione. She did the beta work on this for me, and I am so, so, so grateful to her.

Since beginning to work together more regularly ten months ago, Hermione had endured unsatisfying dreams where she failed to punch Draco Malfoy in the face. Her subconscious would never allow her to follow through with the motion. Like she was underwater. As if every time she tried, a giant hand would grip her raised arm around the elbow, preventing her from moving as she used all her strength to gain the pleasure of her fist connecting with his jaw. 

It was maddening. 

She would wake with the same physical impulse; the ghostly tingle fresh in her arm, raised and reeled back, but somehow stuck. She would roll her shoulder to shake it off.

Though, the dream from which she had awoken this morning she couldn't merely roll off. It had not only been unusual, and therefore off-putting, but the anger that filled her as her eyes snapped open was unfathomable. It featured both she and Malfoy, as usual, but instead of being at work or even in a blank, all-white room, they were in a bedroom. The bright mid-day sun and ocean breeze flitted through the grey curtains of multiple open windows. Malfoy laid sprawled across the bed, pale chest exposed and legs draped in a dark-blue sheet that covered him hip to hip.

It was apparent to her that in the time before she'd come to stand in the doorway, they'd shagged. He seemed pleased with himself, giving her a knowing smirk as she smiled her way to the bed, going to her hands and knees to crawl across the mattress to him. Pulling the sheet off of and straddling his waist. Grinning as she pressed her lips to his.

She awoke when the kiss they shared turned into a rough, breath-taking snog where the two held each other close; hands pulling hair, teeth biting lips, his fingers gripping the cheeks of her arse to spread them apart while simultaneously pulling her hard into his erection. 

Hermione blamed it on the holiday; the break she'd just taken. A week of Greek beaches where she sprawled out in a bikini under a white and blue umbrella. Reading and people-watching on a towel in the sand as she sipped cocktails. She blamed it on the many half-naked men that walked about, especially the ones who approached her. And even though she was all about people, herself included, having a healthy sex-life, she had needed her vacation to be free of any distractions. She was loathed to admit, however, that she did need a good shag. That may have played a part as well. 

Even if Malfoy hadn't been there, the past year of work had been taxing, leaving her little time for a personal life. Despite this, she'd seen to it that she made the most of her time on holiday by relaxing, avoiding most people. The time had recharged her batteries. Even the annoyance of having to deal with the platinum prat on her return was dulled after the much-needed sabbatical. Though, she was still dreaded to see him.

Hermione could not express in words how much she detested the man, though gods know she tried. She hated him. Positively deplored him with every fiber of her being. Seeing him, hearing his voice, thinking of him, listening to others mention or talk of him, made her glare. She did everything in her power to acknowledge Malfoy's existence as little as possible. 

But the dream. The goddamn dream was fresh on her mind as she walked into the MLE office the Monday morning after her return. She was tense but didn't display it as she greeted the coworkers who welcomed her back. 

She made it to her office, closing the door behind her and sitting in her seat, her mind playing over and over the part of her dream where he'd placed his hand around the back of her neck and held her lips to his, and she'd melted. 

With a shudder of disgust, the witch began to look through the memos and assignments that had accumulated in her absence. She was interrupted ten minutes later by a knock on the door. 

"Enter," she called, eyes glued to the paperwork on a Death Eater that had been captured in Iceland the Thursday previous.

It wasn't often anymore that they arrested Death Eaters. The war ended almost ten years ago, and the majority of Voldemort's followers had been brought in within the first four.

Hermione's boss walked in at her call, all swagger in his all-black robes and shoes, perfectly wild black hair, and vibrant green eyes. His smile was as friendly as it always was when it was just the two of them as Harry Potter sat in a guest chair opposite Hermione at the desk.

"How was Greece, 'Mione?"

Hermione smiled at him and nodded her head, saying, "It was gorgeous. And relaxing. I admit you were right. I needed a holiday."

"I told you. It's been a year and a half since you've taken more than two days off in a row. It was time. Gin and I were starting to get worried… You look like you got some sun."

Hermione smiled lightly at the knowledge that her friends cared so deeply about her mental health, then answered, "Lots of it. I also had quite a few drinks." Harry grinned at this. "And I finished the book I've been trying to get to for the past month."

"Leave it to you to read while on holiday," he commented, condescension and pleasantry in his tone. 

"It was time well spent." 

"I'm glad to hear it. Because we have quite a case. It developed yesterday afternoon," Harry informed her as he stood, motioning for her to follow him. 

Hermione gave a curious tilt of her head, the DE report, and her dream far from her mind as she followed her best friend/boss from her office. A bevy of questions popped into her mind, the first of which she asked him. 

"There's a body?"

Why hadn’t there been a memo for it on her desk? Why didn't anyone send her a Patronus message immediately?

Hermione headed the Homicide division of the MLE. It hadn't been her first choice, but she couldn't deny she had a knack for it. It had come as a surprise how little shocked her after all of the carnage of the war. She took over the department over two years ago when Harry had accepted the position of Head of the MLE at the age of twenty-six - the youngest in history. The Man Who Lived had decided to give the section of the Ministry a reboot and had divided the team into departments. And even though there were a handful of branches, Harry oversaw them all; always hands-on when it came to investigations. 

Ron headed local law-enforcement, which he had taken to with gusto, and was doing great things. He'd brought loyalty and skill to the department, and all of those under him respected his good-hearted nature and courage. 

The trio never grew tired of putting an end to the evils of the world, it seemed.

Dean Thomas headed International Affairs, which included terrorism and any cases that spread beyond national boards into theirs. Dean had joined them almost five years ago as an Auror, climbing the ladder quickly. His ability to speak multiple European languages and his charm and intelligence made him the ideal bureaucrat. 

Malfoy, on the other hand, had only been the head of the Dark Arts department for ten months, after being asked by Harry to take lead on the new division created specifically for the blonde. Malfoy had been an Auror for three years before that working under Ron, and he'd been a rather good one at that. This only proved time and time again that being a Malfoy meant that one had to be well-trained in the Dark Arts. Malfoy's knowledge was extensive, and even though it annoyed Hermione, it had helped crack multiple large cases that elevated his position.

Harry, who had not answered her question, led Hermione into the largest briefing room. Her steps faltered for only a second as her quick eyes darted from Ron to Dean, and finally to Malfoy, whose arrogant self sat in an office chair, looking from Harry to her as they entered.

Grey eyes met brown, and the lids on both sets lowered as they glared at one another. The exchange ended once Hermione sat down and looked to Ron. But the witch couldn't shake the feeling of disdain that overwhelmed her at seeing the spoiled, pompous, self-righteous blonde tart who had somehow become friends with every other person in the room besides her.

She had known that the MLE was a bit of a boy's club when she first started working there seven years ago, after getting a Mastery in Charms. This opinion became an incontestable truth the first time she'd seen Malfoy and Ron laughing and patting each other on the back after the Slytherin alum had gotten his promotion. But she knew she wouldn't be caught dead chumming it up with Malfoy. Not ever. He always treated her like the scum of the earth whenever it was just the two of them. And the slimy, two-faced ass-hat made sure to be civil to her in the presence of the other Heads. Though he had no problem undermining her in front of her employees.

The "Mudblood" malarkey Malfoy used to send her way ended the same day as the war, but that never kept him from acting like he was better than her.

"Alright, Dean," Harry started. "How about you catch 'Mione up on what’s happening." 

"Gladly," Dean said, standing from his chair. "But first, how was Greece, mate? I can see you got some sun."

"Yes. How was it?" Ron chimed in, smiling from ear-to-ear. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing the "recently-divorced-from-that-harpy-Romilda" Ron only cared about the women in bathing suits Hermione had seen while on holiday. She wasn't going to humor him, though. Not at this time.

"It was beautiful. And peaceful. I had a great time, but I want to know why on earth we need the Homicide, Local, International, and Dark Arts Heads all in one room. What happened while I was away?"

Dean sighed, and the air in the room became stiff as he sorted through the multiple files he'd brought with him, sliding them, open, along the surface of the table in her direction. Her eyes darted from reports to pictures to notes, the witch expertly managing to follow Dean as he began to explain.

"This all started three weeks ago, in Bray-Dunes, France. Not many outside of France thought much of the case until an identical one popped up in Almere, Netherlands five days later."

Hermione looked at the pictures that were in the France and Netherlands files, both depicting what looked to be a grotesque ritualistic sacrifice. The runes, the implements, the bodies of the two mutilated men themselves were so similar, she could understand why anyone would think they were connected. 

"Then," Dean went on, "there was a case in Samara, Russia three days after that," he sent the file over, "and one in Killarney, Ireland four days after that." He sent another file across the table. "Then," he paused to send one last file, "yesterday around noon, five days after Killarney, one of Ron's men was called to a scene here in London, where they found this man. A wizard named Vellar Coddling, dead in his dwelling. He was killed in the same manner as the other four men: a knife to his heart."

"It's bloody madness," Ron interjected, his eyes wide. "Literally."

Hermione looked from him to the five files with their corresponding photos, all of which showed men surrounded by dried plants and crystals, lying flat on their backs in the middle of rooms, handles of knives sticking out of their chests. Runes were burned into the floors and walls and ceilings, and the bodies of the victims.

Ron was right. It was bloody madness, and Hermione knew instantaneously that they were dealing with a serial killer.

After a moment, she looked up at Dean and asked, "Are there any leads? Do the other countries have any suspects?"

"Not a one," Harry answered. "All we can tell is that the killer is the same person. Someone who has international papers, who likes to dabble in the Dark Arts."

"I'd say more than dabble," Malfoy drawled, standing and walking around the large table to Hermione- who stiffened- pointing from photo to photo. "These runes all represent death. These represent life. And these represent return. It would seem, to me, that someone is trying to bring someone back from the dead."

"What?" Hermione asked, surprise evident in her wide eyes as she gawked up at the blonde. "Are you positive?"

He nodded down at her, and continued, "I can't say I am one hundred percent sure, but that is the only thing that made sense to me as I did my research last night."

"Fuck," Hermione breathed as she began to flip through the Bray-Dunes file.

"Fuck, indeed," Harry agreed, who had taken his spot at the head of the table. "We need to do more research, so I'm sending out teams. Dean and Ron to the scene here in London. Dean needs to finish the report to send to France, the Netherlands, Russia, and Ireland. I'm sending Hermione and Draco to Bray-Dunes to visit the local authorities there and get any more information they can from the crime scene." 

Hermione had to keep herself from all-out yelling or glaring at her boss. He knew how she and Malfoy felt about each other.

"They've moved the body, obviously,” Harry continued, “but they've left the scene otherwise intact. Draco needs to begin cataloging every bit of evidence he can on the rituals, and Hermione needs to inspect the body, which they exhumed a few days ago. The same needs to be done with the other four bodies and scenes, but we should start where this all began. Dean will meet Hermione and Draco in Bray-Dunes as soon as he is able. You all will be leaving immediately."

Hermione drew in a long, deep breath. She hadn't been ready to be in the same building as Malfoy, and now she was on a field assignment with him for the foreseeable future.

"I want answers, mates," Harry said. "Let's get this done. Because I have to believe we haven't seen the last of this killer."

****

Hermione and Malfoy’s teams met in the Portkey office forty-five minutes later, eager to depart. The two Heads didn't look at one another without glaring and kept mostly silent as the Portkey was presented to Hermione, who offered out the umbrella for the teams to grasp. When all five made contact with the Portkey, it pulled them all by the neck with an invisible hook, dropping them into the MLE office in Paris, France.

They were introduced to the head of MLE France, Lenore Vedette, an elderly witch dressed in blue, who was prim and serious. She meant business, which Hermione appreciated, for she wasted no time in introducing them to the lead investigator of the Bray-Dunes case, Inspector Garne. Vedette left them to it, instructing them to keep her up to date on any findings. 

Garne was more relaxed than Vedette. He was older than his boss, no doubt, and reminded Hermione partly of Dumbledore, what with the twinkle in his eye and long, white beard. He was also kind and spoke softly as he began to tell the group what had happened three weeks prior. 

"We were called by the victim, Nigel Hivethackle's, mother," Garne began. "She had been expecting her son to take her to an important appointment that morning, only for him not to show. She claims that she'd seen him alive the night previous. When she didn't hear from him by supper the next day, she used the Floo to enter his home and found him right there in the living room. Let's Apparate there now."

They side-alonged with Garne to the stoop of the small cottage that was a few hundred feet from the bustling bay that the coastal town depended upon for commerce. Hermione eyed the Muggles who moved about in the distance, her sharp gaze beginning to make notes immediately. 

"Mr. Hivethackle's body is back in the morgue," Garne informed them. "I'll be happy to take you to see it when you're done here. Prepare yourselves. This scene is most peculiar."

"I think we can manage, Inspector," Malfoy told him evenly. 

Garne eyed him momentarily, then nodded. "Your reputations proceed you, Monsieur Malfoy, Miss Granger. But I must tell you that this is like nothing I've ever heard of or seen in my fifty years of work. Body or no."

Hermione tilted her head, intrigue growing further in her mind. The old wizard used his wand to unlock the door then, and bid them entrance. The group made their way into the house, and Garne led them slowly into the single most unique crime scene Hermione had ever seen. 

Emblazed into the expanse of every wall and the ceiling were more runes than Hermione could count. There were dried plants, crystals, dirt, and salt in a circle on the floor. There were also two candles: one white and one black, placed on the western and eastern points of the circle's circumference. The sofa had been moved against the wall so that the killer could draw one large rune, which stood for rebirth if Hermione remembered correctly, in the center of the room, just above the circle to the north. Purple paint was used to draw the rune, which was subsequently ruined by Hivethackle's blood. 

Hermione glanced up to Malfoy, who seemed mildly curious, but wholly unshocked. She assumed the deep desensitization he'd experienced in his youth left him mostly unaffected.

"A terrible way to go," muttered Garne.

"Hm," Malfoy hummed in agreeance. "Have you taken samples of everything?"

"I believe we have," the Inspector replied.

"Perfect. Do you mind if we get to work, then?" 

"Not at all, Monsieur Malfoy."

****

The British MLE spent hours at Hivethackle's home, taking pictures and notes and samples, writing down measurements, and every unique rune they could find. France may have done their work, but Hermione, and it would seem Malfoy, didn't want to leave it to chance. By the time they were finished, they'd missed lunch, and Garne suggested a little restaurant on the beach.

As they began their short walk to the eatery, Hermione and her crew member, a young wizard named Killian Dane, walked behind Malfoy and his two crew members. The blonde and his team were speaking about their findings, seriously theorizing about what ritual was performed.

Hermione scowled as she watched Malfoy smile at the witch on his team. She must have said something that made sense to him because he nodded at her enthusiastically. Then he looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Hermione's, and his face grew hard, losing that smile that charmed everyone but her as he turned away.

She hated him so much.

****

When lunch was over, the group went back to Paris. Malfoy's team moved into an appointed room to begin cataloging all of their findings, but the blonde didn't stay with them. Without asking Hermione for permission, he followed her, Killian, and Garne into the morgue where Hivethackle's body lay on an examiner's table, shrouded in a thin, black sheet.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione sought with a frown, having noticed Malfoy slip in behind them.

The lids of his grey eyes lowered at her as he snarled, "I'd like to see what you think of the victim's wounds, Granger."

"Can't you wait for the report?" She snapped.

"No," he answered plainly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I can do this without your input, Malfoy."

"I doubt it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked incredulously. 

"Despite popular belief, you don't know everything. I've seen plenty of your mistakes on your reports."

Hermione's jaw clenched as her nostrils flared. "You have seen no such thing."

"Pardon me," Garne interjected, causing the two to turn and look at the elder wizard, who was giving them a stern look. "I forgot to tell you that the healer in charge of Hivethackle's autopsy is out on holiday for the week. So you will have to evaluate with only her notes."

Garne held out a file, and Hermione grabbed it from him with the faintest hint of a blush on her face. She smiled at him apologetically and opened the file in her hands to read the scribbled report, pulling the sheet to bare the body in its entirety. 

The magically preserved body of Hivethackle's had been cleaned, but his wounds remained. All of the runes carved in with the tip of an athame, the burns, and the bruises. She began to talk of her findings with Killian, but that tense feeling that took her whenever Malfoy was in the room stayed. She wished it was just the two of them so that she could say, "Go fuck yourself, Malfoy, you terrible, annoying bag of shite."

Where had he gotten off? Humiliating ber in front of Garne and Killian. She didn't make mistakes, especially not on reports, and he knew that. He had just wanted to make her look incompetent. 

She hated, hated, hated him.

For the better part of an hour, Hermione and Killian went over the body, finding that a healer named Hela Poitier had documented everything - except one detail. 

"Dane?" Hermione addressed her teammate. 

"Ma'am?"

"Do you see this?" The Head of Homicide used her wand to cast a Lumos, holding it close to the left hip of the cadaver. 

The familiar click of Malfoys’ expensive shoes approached her from behind, the wizard curious as to what she had found.

On the skin below the tip of her wand was a scar of a strange shape. A rune, if she was correct, that someone had attempted to heal. 

"Odd…" Hermione said.

"What is?" Malfoy queried.

But Hermione ignored him.

"Is that a rune?" Killian asked. 

"It is. And it looks as if someone attempted to heal it," Hermione answered. 

"Lesions attributed to the use of Dark magic cannot be healed… Did the killer not know that?" Malfoy mused, and Hermione shifted. "They use Dark magic but don't know the basic consequences?"

"I'm sorry," Garne cut in. "But what does the rune mean?"

Hermione begrudgingly looked to Malfoy. 

He gave her a smirk, one that caused her hand to clench tightly around her wand. "It's Egyptian. It means beloved, or cherished."

"Why would the killer use that rune on their victim?" Killian asked.

No one had an answer for him.

****

It was dinner time before Hermione received an owl from Harry informing them that Dean would not be joining them and that they could return home. 

On arriving in London, Hermione had wished her teammates a general goodnight, everyone but Malfoy wishing her the same before briskly turning and going their separate ways. 

She couldn't wait to be out of her work robes and sleeping. The combination of traveling and investigating had worn her out, and she didn't think that, even with the strangeness of the case, she would struggle to close her eyes.

And she didn't. She showered, dried, and plaited her hair, tucked herself under her covers, and fell to sleep within minutes.

****

It was warm within her room, but the grey clouds blocked out the sun, and the heavy drops of rain hit the windows, playing a loud beat only it could dance to.

The two laid in the comfort of her bed, her head on his chest and arm over his waist. One of his arms was over her shoulder to hold her close to him, the other playing light trails over the sensitive skin of the arm slung over his middle. This hand quickly moved up her arm to her shoulder as he shifted to lay face-to-face with her. 

Malfoy kissed her then, a heated, passionate kiss. She accepted the kiss whole-heartedly, wrapping her arms around him as he moved to lay on top of her. He rolled his hips, grinding his already rock-hard erection against her mons, making the witch moan in anticipation.

She wanted him inside of her. She needed him, and she let him do to her what he wanted. He kissed her flesh and groped her breasts and arse; placed his lips over her pussy, licking and sucking and bringing her over the edge in minutes flat. 

When she came down from her high, he used his grip on her hips to flip her onto her stomach, pulling her up onto her hands and knees. He pushed himself into her, slowly, until he reached the hilt, both moaning at the sensation of every inch of him reaching every inch of her. He started moving in and out of her, one hand on her low back, steadying her, the other sliding a digit against her puckered arsehole. She shuddered as she pushed back against him, the wizard chuckling lightly as he dipped the finger into her to the first knuckle. Hermione gasped and moaned and pushed back against him further, her pleasure heightening as Malfoy moved faster, teasing her.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ!" The witch yelled loudly as her eyes snapped open, waking from her dream with a start. She rolled out of bed with a groan, walking into her bathroom where she proceeded to splash cold water on her face.

Hermione was positively shivering, feeling both repulsed and turned on.

Catching eyes with her reflection, she zoned out as her mind played back the parts of her dream that her body could still feel. His hands on her hips and arse and chest; his teeth impressed into her neck and nibbling her nipples; his prick filling her as he took her from behind.

She shook her head fervently, wishing for the images to leave her alone for-fucking-ever.

She hated him. But she couldn't escape him. He terrorized even her most private functions. She almost didn't want to look at her reflection anymore from shame. 

Did she want him? Subconsciously? Was this her mind's way of telling her what she truly desired? Not to hit him, since she never could in her dreams, but fuck him instead?

Hermione shivered again, trying with all of her might to shake the feeling of Malfoy having his way with her body.

The witch decided to get ready for work, knowing she couldn't go back to sleep. The day started, officially at eight, and it was only half-past five. So she showered, plaited her hair to one side, dressed in her signature uniform and high-heeled shoes, gathered her things, and headed for the office.

She arrived at half-past six to an empty department and hid away in her office where she started to work. Using her wand, she conjured a table in the middle of the room after she'd pushed the guest chairs to the far wall. She then laid out the files and notes for the "sacrifice case", as the team had coined it yesterday. 

This was how he found her an hour later, elbows deep in Conjured books, parchment, and quills. 

"Granger," came the voice of the man who haunted her sleeping and waking nightmares. 

She took in a very long, loud, and obvious breath, exhaled audibly, and then looked up at his form in her doorway.

A heat hit her chest and neck at the sight of him, which she tried like the devil to ignore, before she croaked out, "Yes?" She cleared her throat, adding, "Can I help you?"

"Have you been here all night?"

Her brows furrowed and she shook her head. "No. I came in early."

He nodded once, then took three long steps to reach her. He placed a long piece of parchment atop the one she had been working on, and she looked from the parchment to him in annoyance.

"What is this?"

"It's my notes. I believe I have confirmed that I was right from the beginning. The killer was trying to resurrect someone by trading Hivethackle's soul for another."

Hermione looked to where Malfoy pointed, which was a key of the runes and their meanings. The witch swallowed thickly as she stared a second too long at his long fingers, remembering how they'd teased her arse in her dream. It had felt good, and the body part in question began to tingle at the memory. 

"Uh," she stood quickly, taking up the parchment and moving to stand as far away from him as possible. "Is that all?"

He glared at her before striding into her space, raising a hand to reach out to her. She took a step back and made contact with the wall. He paused in his advance, inches from her, and they measured each other up for an amount of time Hermione couldn't count. Had it been seconds? Minutes?

"What's the matter with you?" He snapped, reaching out and snatching the parchment from her hand.

"Nothing," she answered swiftly, before squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw. "I'd like it if you left my office."

A second ticked, and he frowned deeply. "You act as if I want to be here. I think you already know this is the last place I would be if given the choice."

"Then leave."

"I am. We both are. Harry says we're heading for the Netherlands."

"We are?"

He smirked. "Yes. He told me last night. Didn't he tell you? Or have you angered him with your shite attitude, as well?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione flared. "I haven't angered him, nor have I made any mistakes on my reports. What do you think gives you the right to say that about me? In front of Killian and Garne?"

He looked frustrated by her question and answered, "Because you aren't as perfect as you lead everyone to believe. Acting chummy and kind to those around you, but I know who you are, Granger."

"And who am I, Malfoy?" Hermione snarled, feeling a familiar rage boil inside her. "Hm? Tell me."

"Hey. You two," Harry interrupted from the door. "Step to it. You're off to Almere. Dean will be going with you. Assemble your teams and meet me in the briefing room A. S. A. P." He accentuated each letter with a clap of his hands. He left then, a pep in his step apparent. He always got hyped whenever he was in pursuit of someone he wanted to be brought to justice.

The two left in Hermione's office turned back to each other, and with one last glare, Malfoy left the room, anger evident in his form, his cloak billowing behind him thanks to the speed of his retreat.

With a deep, stabilizing breath, she began to pack up. Heading out of her office, she found Killian and told him to meet her in the briefing room in five. 

****

Dean stayed in Amsterdam with the head of MLE for the Netherlands, while Hermione, Malfoy, and their teammates headed for Almere and the house of one Magnus Mikkels, the second victim in the Sacrifice Case.

"It's a brutal case," Harknes said as he broke away from the group. They had Apparated on the doorstep of Mr. Mikkels' upscale two-story house. "My grandfather was the former head of our MLE. I asked him about the case this past weekend. Says he has never seen anything like it." 

Harknes unlocked the door and led them in. Hermione brought up the rear, closing the door behind her while looking at the decor in the foyer. She followed everyone up the stairs to Mikkels' bedroom, where the scene had been blocked off by wards. Harknes dropped them, opened the door, and Hermione's mouth went dry.

The photos in the file had not been adequate preparation for seeing the scene with one's own eyes. Hermione was floored. Every surface- the walls, ceiling, furniture- were covered in bundles of dried herbs and flowers, fire-etched runes in the spaces between. There was dirt and sand and blood all over the floor. In the center of the room was the same rune and circle as the last scene, but instead of using paint, the killer had burned them into the wall-to-wall carpet, down to the wood. There was more blood than the time before, and the room smelled vile - like rot and campfire.

"Merlin!" Malfoy exclaimed breathily, taking slow steps as his lips parted in awe, eyes widening as he took in the scene.

"You can say that again," Rosalind, one of Malfoy's assistants agreed, following her boss around the room. Larse, their other team member, was planted motionless next to Killian, whose eyes were darting around to take in as much as possible.

"This is going to take a while," Killian said to himself. 

Hermione nodded. "Yes. It is." She began to move, her eyes locking in on an oddly shaped blood spot.

"It would seem," Malfoy said from across the room, "that our killer must have thought that burning the runes into the floor would be more effective than painting them." 

Hermione knelt by the blood spot she was inspecting and reached out to touch it, using the nail on her pointer finger to scratch the outer edge. And the dark, rust-colored substance flaked away.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?" Malfoy said loudly, angrily, from his place to her left. Her head snapped up to look at him, finding his scowling face.

She matched his expression as she answered, "I am inspecting. As is in my job description." She stood to face him, going on the defensive, for it was second nature to do so when she dealt with him.

"You're disturbing the scene," he said in his condescending tone, which didn't leave him throughout their whole conversation.

"The scene was already disturbed. When they moved the body."

"You shouldn't be touching anything. I would think that as Head of Homicide, you would know this."

"Have you ever heard of blood flaking off in large pieces from carpet?"

"No," he answered flatly. "However, the report was very thorough. Are you implying Harknes' team didn't do their jobs adequately?"

"No," Hermione answered, not skipping a beat. "What I'm saying is that there is a spot here that is not just blood, and it wasn't in the report."

"My team found nothing of the sort," Harknes cut in, but didn't sound offended in the slightest. 

"Well, there is something of some sort here. Marx, we need a sample of this splotch." 

Hermione pointed to it as she looked to the raven-haired witch, Rosalind, who stood next to Malfoy. The young woman looked torn as her pale blue eyes darted between the two department Heads. Her hands clutched her bag so tightly her knuckles began to turn white.

"You don't tell her what to do, Granger. She works for me."

"And in this particular case, you work for me," Hermione told him. 

"How do you figure that?" He said through gritted teeth.

"This is, above all other things, a murder scene. There may be Dark magic involved, but we are here to find a killer. That is my department."

"It may be your department, but you have no right to boss about my employees."

"And you have no right to boss me about. At all. I am doing my job, now do yours. Collect the sample and run the test."

Malfoy's air darkened ever further as he said, "We will be doing what I think is necessary. We'll get to that spot when we get there."

Their conversation ended there. She had to stop before she finally snapped and hit him. Harry was already not pleased by the altercations she and Malfoy had. He had told her when he'd informed her of Malfoy's promotion that he expected her to be unhappy with the situation and claimed he didn't blame her. But he had asked her to try her hardest to be civil.

Hermione wasn't someone who failed at things, but she failed at civility with Malfoy, and that made her even more frustrated with the situation. 

She decided against speaking to him further for the rest of the day, unless completely necessary.

Harknes left shortly after making sure they were settled in, saying he had another case he was working on. Six hours later they were still there in Mikkels' room, and those six hours didn't include their lunch break.

When their lunch break did come, it did so in the form of Dean arriving from Amsterdam. He didn’t always visit the crime scenes themselves, but he often wanted to see them first-hand, so that when he spoke with foreign Ministry officials about the scene, he could speak from experience. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Dean swore as he stepped through the door, looking around at everything that was going on within the room. “This is the work of a madman.”

“Or woman,” Marx offered offhandedly. 

“Very possibly a woman,” Hermione agreed, giving Rosalind a small smile in agreeance. The assistant smiled back at her with a nod.

“Is that what you’ve deduced, then?” Dean asked. “This is a jilted lover, or…?”

“We’re still not sure,” Hermione admitted. “But I think it is safe to say that this is the work of a heartbroken man or woman who is trying to bring their lover back.”

“And you agree with her, Malfoy?” Dean asked, turning to the blonde. Hermione looked at him as well.

With a sideways glance at Hermione, Malfoy nodded. “The athames were all on the small side. A man would have likely used larger ones. And the individual runes and rune sequences we’ve cataloged, some have something to do with romantic love.”

“Can the two of you,” Dean motioned to the other department Heads with a finger, “write this into a report for me to send along right away, please? I know you’re busy, but perhaps you can take a break? There’s something else I need to speak to you both about as it is.”

Hermione and Malfoy looked at one another and their teammates. 

“Sure thing," Hermione said, and Malfoy nodded. "I'll bring back food," she added to the three assistants, who thanked her as the three Heads left the room.

Dean led the way but continued to chat them up as they walked down the street to a small cafe. After they'd ordered and sat in a quiet corner, Dean finally let them know the news.

"Ron got paid a visit this morning. By one Miss Delilah Baxter. She claims to be the ex-girlfriend of Mr. Coddling. Says they broke up over a month ago. The crazy part is that she said she saw Coddling the week before he died and he told her that he had just gotten back from holiday. Can you guess where?"

Hermione and Malfoy shook their heads.

Dean adopted a smile like he was dying to see their reaction. "Bray. Fucking. Dunes." 

"What?" Hermione asked, her face showing just how confused she was by this news.

"Who the fuck holidays in Bray-Dunes?" Malfoy asked.

"Ron asked that same question. Verbatim. We're looking into it. But I figured you both should know. You were just there. Did you see anything at all out of the ordinary?"

"You mean besides a sacrificial altar and a dead man covered in runes?" Hermione asked. She glanced at Malfoy, who was smirking at her retort. Hermione gave him a suspicious look, and his face fell back into his usual stern expression. 

"Yes, 'Mione," Dean said with a small smile. "Besides that."

"She discovered a rune on the victim's body that was already healed into a scar," Malfoy chimed in.

"You did?" Dean asked her.

"I did," she said. "Which is unusual, because most people know that you can't heal scars that are caused by dark magic." The witch shifted, because saying the sentence made the scars all over her body seem sensitive. Fresh.

The three continued to talk until their food came, Hermione deciding to eat and write her report. Malfoy quickly followed suit, and when they were finished, they left the cafe and started walking back to the crime scene.

"Oh!" Dean said as they reached the cobbles. "I meant to tell you both earlier, but you're staying in Amsterdam for the night. The excavation team won't be able to dig up Mikkels' body until later this afternoon. Something about the local laws. You can either examine the body late tonight or in the morning. Once you’re done with that, Harry wants you both back in England to check out the scene there."

****

Hermione normally didn't mind staying overnight somewhere foreign in the name of business, but she cared this time due to her returning home from holiday only two nights ago. She missed her bed, but she understood the necessity. There were meetings and plenty of other work to accomplish the next day, bright and early, so not having to travel back and forth would be best.

When Hermione, Malfoy, and their teams left the crime scene, inspector Harknes informed them that the body wouldn’t be ready until the morning and then gave them the information for their hotel. It was four blocks away from Amsterdam’s Ministry building. Malfoy and his team made their way over to get settled in, so Hermione sent Killian over as well, telling him to get some dinner and rest, and that she'd see him in the morning, for she was going to keep working.

Hermione was happy for the time alone. It meant she could think about the case without interruptions, which was when she did her best work.

She walked to grab some take away and head back to the temporary office they'd been given the use of so that she could happily drown herself in information. She returned to the empty, temporary MLE office an hour later with erwtensoep and kroket. Said office was on the fifteenth floor, and it overlooked the city of Amsterdam, as the farthest wall was made of windows.

Hermione conjured a large table and began to lay out folders, mimicking the organized mess that was the table in her office that morning. The witch settled in, kicking off her shoes and laying her cloak over the back of her chair. She let her hair out of its plait and shook it, feeling the relief of letting it lay a different way.

For hours she worked, laying out an investigation board on a tabletop so large she'd had to spell the table to be longer. There were pictures with notes scribbled next to them, reports with scribbled notes between the lines. She had parchment from Malfoy's team's findings hung up on a wall that wasn't made of glass windows, separate from her work on the table.

When the clock struck midnight, Hermione heard a knock at the door. She looked to it, and her brows furrowed. With no words and an open hand, she called her wand to her palm from the place she had set it on her investigation board, and she moved to the door to open it. Even after all these years, she rarely opened the door to an unannounced caller without her wand in hand.

The urge to slam the door in Malfoy's face almost won out as she opened it and found him standing there, looking tired and yet still wearing his work clothes. Instead of reacting, logic won out, and she asked, "Can I help you with something?"

He took a deep breath, the witch ignoring his broad chest as it expanded, and he said, "I have something to tell you."

With these words, he pushed past her and entered the room. She rolled her eyes and turned, closing the door behind her. This was bound to get loud, for she'd had enough of his shite that day. If he said one inappropriate word, she would snap. 

The blonde looked at her board in silence, and after half a minute of this she asked, "What is it?"

He set one hand on the table, leaned into slightly, and held out a small piece of parchment with his jaw set taught. She grabbed it from him and began to read, her face pulling into a pleased smile as she reached the end. 

"You were right," he said, and she could hear the reluctance to say this in his voice. "There's something mixed with the blood. Clay. Made from mud, that we believe is from the bank of the Thames."

The smile Hermione wore faded, and she looked up to him in confusion. "You're sure of this?"

"Larse is rarely wrong," was his answer. 

"Can he tell where exactly on the Thames it came from?"

"Not yet. But he's working on it."

Hermione looked back down at the parchment, then back to him as she said uneasily, "Thank you. For letting me know."

He nodded once, and the room fell silent. The air became tense very fast. He never liked admitting she was right, the witch thinking it an impossibility after the public row they had had earlier. She was also not used to thanking him. It didn't happen often. 

The tension must have grown to be too much for him, for he broke the silence by looking to the table and asking, "Have you had any other leads?" 

Hermione took a few reluctant steps in his direction, coming to stand next to him as she began to explain her thought process.

"There are basic patterns, which is where one must start when dealing with something like this. All five victims are between twenty-seven and thirty years of age. They all have dark brown or dark auburn hair. All around one-hundred and eighty-two centimeters. Similar weights. All live alone, and four of the five are widowers."

"Really?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione nodded and began pointing to the different pictures as she explained further, "Hivethackle's wife died two years ago in a magical accident while experimenting with a Dragon pox vaccine. Mikkels' wife was a Muggle. She died in a car accident on her way home from work last year. Benji Arlov, the victim in Russia, lost his wife and daughter in childbirth five years ago. Harlo McFadden, our victim in Ireland, lost his wife to suicide just three months ago. They never figured out why she did it. There was no note. Our British victim, Coddling, was the only one of the four who has never been married.”

“But the girlfriend,” Malfoy said. “She dumped him.”

Hermione nodded. "I think that our killer is preying on broken-hearted men, and I'm starting to think that they too lost their lover, due to their trying to bring a new soul into these men's bodies. I don't know if their heartbreak is a ritual requirement or a personal one. That’s something for you to figure out, I suppose.

"When I look at the runes the killer chose to put on the bodies, I…" Hermione paused, her eyes landing on the photo of the Almere scene, and her head tilted as her brows drew together. "What? The hell?"

"What is it?" Malfoy inquired, looking at the photo she snatched up from over her shoulder.

"Look!" Hermione pointed to the floor next to Mikkels' body. "The rune with the clay in it. It isn't in this photo." She passed it to him, and when her hands were free, she started rummaging for the pictures in the Netherlands file, flipping through them fervently. 

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Malfoy asked.

"It means they came back," Hermione said, turning to him. She held out another photo, which showed the angle of the floor near Mikkels' head a little clearer, and it was as she said: the blood and clay rune was missing.

"We need to tell Harry," she said, setting the photos down to grab her wand.

"Now?" Malfoy asked.

"Yes. Now, Malfoy. If the killer revisited this scene, they may go back to the others. He and Ron need to know, and I need to check the photos of the Bray-Dunes scene. Expecto Patronum." She cast her otter Patronus, and spoke her message to it, before sending it off to her friend. It took off out the door and was gone.

The room was quiet for a moment before Mafloy asked, "Which memory do you use?"

"What?" She asked, turning to him with a questioning gaze.

He never asked her personal questions. When they spoke, it was always work-related.

“The… memory. For the… the Patronus,” he managed to say, looking at the very least unsure.

"It depends," she began, turning to rifle through photos to keep her hands and eyes busy. She was growing uneasy at his closeness and non-combative countenance. "Sometimes it's the first time I saw Diagon Alley. Sometimes it's the moment I knew Harry hadn’t died when Voldemort cursed him in the Forbidden forest during the battle. It’s more often the first time I saw my parents after they returned from Australia with their memories intact.”

It was common knowledge what Hermione had done to save her parents during the war. Pansy Parkinson had written a book about it all, personally interviewing her, Harry, and Ron for the full story. 

“Sometimes,” Hermione continued, and she couldn’t exactly say why. She chalked it up to wanting things to go back to normal. This, talking to Malfoy about happy memories, was not normal. “Sometimes I remember the look you got on your face after I slapped you in the third year.” He glared at her, and she turned back to her work with a smirk. “I think we’re done here, Malfoy. You can leave.”

He didn’t listen. He stayed planted where he was, and Hermione jumped when his hand came out and grabbed her by the upper arm, turning her to look at him, piercing mercurial eyes boring into hers. She felt the anger rise in her chest at the rough contact.

“You need to reevaluate how you talk to me,” he said in a low, semi-threatening voice. 

The anger within her rose ever higher as she glared up at him. “I advise you to do the same wherever I’m concerned,” she growled back as she pushed against his chest, but he didn’t so much as move an inch when she did so. 

This only made her madder.

“You are always acting like everyone and everything is less than you.” He went on. “You think that just because you’re smart, everyone else is a neanderthal."

“You do the same thing!” 

The anger rose...

“You’re condescending!”

“Likewise!” 

And it rose a little more...

“You’re disrespectful!”

“As are you!”

She was boiling now.

“It is inconceivable to me,” he said, his voice wavering in his rage. “how much of an absolute cunt you are!”

That was it.

She did it. 

She didn’t know when her mind decided to do so, but she snapped.

Her fingers clenched, her arm rose, and she punched him square in the jaw with everything she had. Malfoy stumbled away from her a few steps, and his hand came up to the side of his face that was growing redder and redder by the second. Hermione was breathing hard, and her fist had a dull pounding of pain. Her body shook from all of the rage and adrenaline as she looked down at her knuckles. This wasn't like her dream at all. It felt… it felt amazing. 

The resounding sound of fist meeting face was still ringing in her ears as she looked from her hand to Malfoy, whose burning eyes looked back at her. In a flash, he was on her. He grabbed her by the hair at the back of her head, pulling her to him with the glower still on his face, seething as he looked her dead in the eyes."Don't you dare put your hands on me again, witch." The grip he had on her hair tightened, and from their closeness, she could feel that he too was shaking with adrenaline and ragged breaths.

In all of this, Hermione’s hands stayed at her side, but it wasn’t from fear or obedience. If Hermione had been any other woman, some weak-willed witch who gave any sort of a fuck about what Malfoy felt or thought, she would have been afraid. But Hermione feared no man. She had been afraid before, in her younger years, of a certain Slytherin who wished to exterminate her and anyone who showed Muggleborns sympathy. She watched him die, and with him went all fear of those who thought her low enough to be stepped on.

Malfoy's glare didn’t falter as he stared into the fire of Hermione's soul. With ground teeth she spat, "You will never speak to me like that again. Ever.” 

"I will speak to you however I wish, as long as you keep hitting me and speaking to me as if I'm rubbish." 

She gave a dark chuckle, saying, "You are rubbish."

His glare deepened, something she was sure was impossible, but she took that moment to bring the heel of her foot down on top of his, the man groaning with pain, and this only caused him to tighten his grip in her hair and push her into the wall behind her.

His body was fully flush against her own, hard and unforgiving. She wouldn't be able to push him off of her this way, even though she tried. This only made him have to catch one of her arms by the wrist and tuck it painfully down to her side. Her neck was beginning to feel strained where he held her, her head pulled back, chin tilted up so that he could look her in the face. 

"All I've done," Mafloy began, his voice low and menacing, "since I've started this job is do my best. And you, with your shite attitude, have done nothing but be a complete bitch to me."

"You have never been anything but terrible to me!" Hermione answered, voice growing shrill. "You started this years ago, and I am sick of you. I have had it with you. You're two-faced. You treat everyone but me with respect, and I won't stand for it any longer." Hermione drew in a deep breath, and said firmly, "Ventus!"

Hermione's wandless magic could be quite strong at times. It must have been the high emotional energy flowing through her, because the whipping wind that picked up in the room threw not only Malfoy but her as well, the wizard letting her go as they were lifted to their feet. With groans of pain, the two hit the far wall and slid down to land in a pile on the floor, the papers and photos from the table raining down over them. 

The witch opened her eyes to find Malfoy doing the same. His one cheek was beginning to turn a deep red, almost purple, where she punched him, and she thought about giving him a matching set for handling her so roughly. She lifted her arm, but this time it was not to hit him but to disentangle herself from him. Malfoy must have thought she was going to strike him again because, with quick reflexes, he had her by her elbow and had her back pressed into the floor. The two then grappled until he had both of her wrists pinned beside her head, and she had her thighs wrapped around his middle, holding him tight as if she were the one who hailed from a house of snakes.

He looked down at her scowling face, and Hermione began to move, trying to break her hands free so she could gouge his eyes out, or something else equally violent and unprofessional. Not that she wasn't already far beyond all of that when she hit him.

They continued to struggle until he was laying on her, chest to chest, the two breathing heavily. He was giving her a strange look, and something within her began to flutter. 

She moved against him instead of thinking of whatever was happening in her stomach, pulling, pushing harder against him until he said, "Stop."

"Let me go," she commanded.

"Are you going to hit me again?"

"I might."

"Then why would I let you go?"

She didn't answer, she just kept fighting to be free.

"Stop it, Granger," he said quickly, but she didn't. She kept struggling, making a plan to hit him for being such a handsy prick. She figured that with the high possibility of Malfoy telling Harry and ultimately getting her fired, she might as well get another lick in. 

"Stop!" he yelled.

"Or what?!" She shrilled, already feeling mildly fatigued at fighting against someone so much bigger than her.

He was staring down at her, looking as if he were torn between two impossible decisions, before he put his mouth to hers in a crushing kiss.

It was similar to the first dream. The kiss in the first dream, where he claimed her with his lips; stole her breath and made her melt. 

She melted. 

Away. 

Into the floor. 

Into him. 

No one had ever kissed her the way that Malfoy did in that dream, or this conscious moment. She felt molten. It was like she was floating and weighed a million tonnes all at once. It was much like how she felt when she was angry with him; energy. 

Energy. And hate.

She pulled back from him after a few seconds, in which she'd kissed him back, and she stared up at him in disbelief. Had she gone back to sleep? Was she dreaming now? Or was this happening?

Somewhere in the kiss he'd loosened his grip, the witch now able to free her wand hand so she could reach up through the small space between them and slap him across the face, but she didn't make another move after that one. She didn't struggle or attempt to flee, the two simply stared at one another. Even after she slapped him, he didn't move. He stared down at her as if he too were lost, or perhaps wondering if he was dreaming.

He did it again then, kissed her. He released her hands and put one in her hair and the other on her waist, pulling her to him fully, snogging her until they had to stop to gasp in air. 

They glared at each other because their faces knew no other way to be when confronted with the other, and Hermione said, "I hate you. More than anyone or anything."

"I can't stand you," he sneered. 

She slapped him again, the sound ringing louder than the first time, and that same hand moved to the front of his shirt to wrap around his tie and pull him down for another kiss, which he gave to her willingly. His hands reached up between them, and he started pulling her shirt where it was tucked into her slacks. He was undressing her, and for some Merlin forsaken reason, she didn't stop him. 

She joined him. 

Her other hand came to meet the one already on his tie, loosening it to pull it from his collar and discard it on the floor. She broke their kiss to say, "I wish I never had to work with you."

Malfoy didn't seem to care about the buttons of her blouse. He gripped the fabric and tore the buttons off to expose her white, lacy bra.

"I never understood how anyone could work for a bossy, know-it-all bint like you," he snarled. 

Hermione did the same to his shirt, and tore it down his arms, the muscles of his chest obvious through the white undershirt he wore.

"I've wanted nothing but to kill you since day one," she spat as she finished tearing his shirt off his arms, letting it go the second it was free of him and moved to start pulling at his belt buckle. 

He kissed in between the words he spoke with malice, "I would kill you here and now if I wouldn't end up in some shite Dutch prison." 

"You belong there," she snapped, then bit his bottom lip until he hissed in pain. He pulled away, bleeding, and it was his turn to slap her across the face. 

She growled in rage, pushing him off of her. But he pulled her with him, the papers beneath them rumpling, the witch now sitting atop him. He lost both of his hands in her hair to pull her down into a copper-tasting kiss, rolling them once more until he was on top of her again. Her hands finished the job on his trousers, pushing them and his pants down his hips, and together they worked her slacks and knickers off.

Malfoy sat back on his knees and divulged himself of his undershirt, then scooped her up in his arms to help her wrap her legs around his waist. He sat back onto his arse then, and Hermione could feel his full length and girth pushing up into her folds. She used her hand to steady his cock as she slid onto him, and the shock of his size caused her head to fall back, a pleasured gasp on her lips.

His lips found their way onto one of her nipples, the wizard having pulled down the cups of her bra to bare her ample chest. She could hear him groan loudly in pleasure as she sank onto him completely, and goose-bumps flashed across every inch of her skin.

Malfoy held Hermione to him as they began to move, the two kissing each other as they held onto one another as if for dear life.

"Fuck!" Hermione broke away from their kiss to moan. Her legs were already shaking with pleasure. She couldn't understand how that was possible. She didn't understand how any of this was possible. He repulsed, fatigued, and infuriated her. 

How could the feeling of him doing this to her make her feel like she was going to break? She was soaking, the wet, slapping sound of where their bodies met filling the space of the room. He did that to her. He had her dripping at his touch.

She couldn't understand it. It made no sense. All she knew was, "I hate you, Malfoy."

He grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her eyes to his as he continued to fuck her, and he said, "I fucking hate you, too, Granger."

That was the last thing they said to each other for a while. After that, he'd thrown her off of him, turning her onto her stomach while doing so, and he gripped one of her hips to place her on her knees. 

Hermione looked up, and to her surprise, she noted that they were facing one of the walls of windows that looked over the city. In its reflection, she watched as he grabbed his cock and placed it back at her entrance, and watched as he pushed into her again, harder than the time before. She cried out, in both pain and pleasure, and she let him fuck her so hard her arms became putty, giving out at the elbows and forcing her to put her face to the floor.

This position only aided in him bringing out one of the strongest, mind-shattering orgasms of her life, causing her to scream out something similar to a sob. She sobbed. She couldn't believe how amazing it felt, that she sobbed.

But he didn't stop. 

When her body slackened at her fading orgasm, he put his hands under her arms and pulled her up to where her back was flush with his chest, and he continued to move in and out of her; long, languid strokes that pulled shudders from her core. She held onto one of his arms for support, which had snaked around her to hold her up. The other pushed her hair to one side, and he set his mouth to her bare shoulder, sucking and biting whatever skin he could find. 

He sunk his teeth in so deep at one point, she keened in pain, but he didn't stop, and she didn't want him to. The position they were in, the heightened emotions they were dealing with, was already bringing her to another edge of pleasure, one she was intent on falling from.

When he grabbed her face to turn her head to look up and over her shoulder at him, he locked eyes with her, and that was when she lost it.

She came a second time, her pussy clenching him like a vice, her body going rigid, her eyes slamming shut and her head falling back onto his chest as she admitted, "I'm coming again!"

"Fuuuuck," he groaned into her neck. "Hermione," he gasped, and she knew he was coming too, emptying into her with forceful thrusts.

The two fell over, the witch still wrapped in his arms and in no shape to pull away from him. She let him hold her to him, their sweat mingling together as they cooled down. All she could hear, and all she could bring herself to think about, was their labored breathing and the pounding of blood in her ears. 

However, when she felt his lips on her shoulder again, lightly kissing the flesh that was at least bruised, if not bleeding, she started and pulled away from him.

She didn't look at him, not once, as she began to dress as she used her wand to reorganize the files, and she collected her things. All she knew was that two minutes later, he hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. 

She exited the room as fast as her shaking legs could carry her.

~*~*~  
Part 1  
Fin


End file.
